It had been many happy and peaceful seasons since embarking. The fortress was thriving and migrants were common. 100 happy dwarves lived next to a river delta in a 3-story deep fortress. It was not well organized, nor grand in any way, but it was home. Shortly after another migrant wave and a human merchant caravan arrived, the goblins struck.

The fortress was not without a militia, but it was meant to keep thieves and snatchers at bay, certainly not a goblin invasion. While the civilians rushed to the meeting hall on the lowest level, the humble militia guarded the drawbridge. Once all the civilians had made it inside, they retreated and raised the bridge. Two dwarves had fallen. But they had died saving the fortress.

The goblins would not be able to attack the fortress directly, but unfortunately for the dwarves, this was only the beginning. Soon, the alcohol ran dry and without a fresh water source within the fortress walls, dwarves began to die of thirst. They frantically dug through cavern walls into stagnant pools for temporary respite, and even raided the trapped trade caravan. But there was not enough to drink. Several dwarves went insane, another turned up dead drained of blood, and still more succumbed to thirst. The few sane dwarves that remained knew that the fortress was lost and could not bear the sound of their brothers and sisters murdering each other in thoughtless rage. In an effort to preserve the memory of the fortress, they tunneled into the nearby river delta.

The fortress flooded, then winter came and entombed the fortress in ice. When the last cry faded into the frozen wasteland, the goblins left.